Vanilla Salt
by Tabbyluna
Summary: It had all started with one night. He just wanted to attend his friend's birthday celebration. Now, why does Olav feel the way he feels?


When Ghost Roaster was still named Olav, there was a dessert in his village that everyone loved. It was considered a speciality of the town. A treat that the village chefs had learned to perfect over the years. In the past, it attracted others to their village. It even managed to convince some to stay. The dessert being the Wooly Vanilla Salt Cake.

As a chef, he was trained to bake the cake as a rite of passage. Once you learned to cook it well, you could be accepted into the ranks of village chefs. But this cake was something he always had trouble with. He had no problems with the wool consistency, and he was more than happy to make it salty, but no matter what he did, he just could not give it the right amount of vanilla.

His teacher used to grimace whenever he presented him his cake. It was too salty. It was always too salty. "Olav, you must learn how to develop a taste for the sweet."

And he most certainly tried. The village lacked anything to properly measure out ingredients. Too isolated for them to be shipped there, and too poor to send out travellers. All measurements were instinctual. But Olav had heard of such tools. At least from the few elders who left the village in their youth. Those elders were considered eccentric and weird by the village, and most preferred to leave them alone in their dark, cool houses. Olav liked to visit them though. Hearing about how the other citizens of Skylands lived their lives was something he found rather interesting. After all, he heard about measuring tools from them. Someday, he wished to leave the village and obtain such a measuring tool for himself. And when he returned, he would bake the elders a cake to enjoy.

After his classes, he would always hang out with his friends. They were all the village boys. The kids he grew up with. They would ask him to join them at the local tavern, with the specific goal of mingling with the small groups of girls.

For whatever reason, he was never interested. He figured that he had to be the type who would only fall in love with one woman. Large groups of them simply did not excite him like his friends did. His friends simply told him that he needed to develop a taste for sweet, young, pretty girls. "Soon, we'll end up with all the best girls in town, and you'd be left as the lone bachelor. You need to be quick Olav."

Still, he paid them no heed. That is, until one day, the day that would forever change his life.

It was his friend, Sven's birthday. And Sven wanted to celebrate in the tavern. Olav knew that the place would not be crowded, since they were more or less the tavern owner's only customers. And since there would not be other groups of young people mixing about, he could feel free to drink beer in one corner while watching the way his friends partied.

It was a good plan, in his opinion. He said yes to the invite.

At the tavern, everything was going according to plan. He watched his friends get drunk almost immediately, and then they set to work making fools of themselves. Olav secretly enjoyed watching them make a fool of themselves, admittedly. It was amusing. Watching them all play party games while he nursed his glass of apple cider.

But just as they were halfway finished with their game of drunk charades, somebody walked through the door. What's more, it was a complete stranger.

That was a surprise. No new face had arrived at the tavern in almost a decade. But as Olav looked upon this new face, he could not help but feel his heart race a little faster and his face flush a little more.

The new face was an angular one. His jaw was squarish and his body was bulky. He had two sharp eyes, with the pupils invisible. A flat, round nose. Two large elf ears. And his thin lips curved into a confident, cocky smile. Looking at that face, Olav could not help but find it utterly handsome.

He walked towards the bar and ordered two pints of beer. Once he did, he turned to face the commotion behind him, and slurped his beer while he watched. "You hang out here much?" He asked.

Olav had a delayed response. "Oh, hold on. You were talking to me?"

"I don't see anyone else seated here, do you?" He chuckled. He had such a warm laugh, so devoid of judgement, that Olav could not help but laugh along.

"Well, actually, no. I'm really only here for my friend's birthday. He's uh… he's the one pretending to be a chicken now." He directed him to Sven. Though his shirt was soaked with sweat, he still flapped his arms like a crazed bird. Passionate over a game of charades, that was Sven alright. Especially when he was drunk.

The man chuckled. Olav found that laugh to be a most pleasant sound. Warm, rich, it was strangely comforting. "Ah, everyone has at least one weird friend. I have a ton of them."

"Could you tell me about them then?" Olav asked. He liked the way him voice sounded. Deep, booming, kind of warm, a little rough around the edges. He wanted to hear it a little more.

The man began talking about his band of eccentric friends. He could not recall their names after that night, but he remembered what they were. A fire spirit who liked to climb mountains. A dragon who was an expert dancer. A walking acorn tree whose life mission was to become the best storyteller in all of Skylands. "And I mean someone who tells stories from his own imagination. Not just one of those blokes who retells history to different people." There were a lot of those "blokes" around, considering how big Skylands was. To craft an original story from one's imagination was truly a rare gift.

He was on his way to meet them on the nearby mountains. Apparently, there was some sort of dancing competition the dragon wanted to take part in. The fire spirit wanted to join in, both to support his friend and to climb the mountain. And the acorn tree planned on tagging to both support his friend and to gather inspiration for his story. "But what about you?" Asked Olav. The man stopped talking to take a swig of his beer, and Olav could not help but admire the way he moved. He was confident, sure of every movement he made. Yet, he did not fill the room overwhelmingly. He was more of a solid presence than a 'big' one.

"Oh, me? Ah, I'm really in it for the adventure! Well, that, and to support her. She's really very good, even if her dancing's a little weird. I believe it's called interpretive dance? She's brilliant at that."

"Oh, yeah. I've heard of that. Some of the village elders here said they saw a couple performances, and they liked it."

He nodded. "It's one of those things where you have to just see and experience for yourself. Have you ever seen one?"

Olav shook his head. "No, I've never even left this village even. Travel isn't big here."

"Shame, really. There's a lot out there in Skylands. You really should go on a short trip someday. That's why I chose to become a professional adventurer, honestly. Skylands is too big and too grand of a place to not explore." He finished up his first beer, then picked up his second pint. Olav continued sipping his own glass of cider. He wanted the man to carry on talking about his adventures, but the way he was looking at him suggested he was interested in what he wanted to say. The way his ears perked up and his eyes looked at him attentively. Well then. There was not much he had to say, but if he wanted him to...

"I plan to, someday. Those village elders I talk to all the time are the only ones here that had stepped foot out of here. They make Skylands out to be such a grand place. I want to see more of it after I finish my training to be a chef. Maybe then I can earn some money for myself and go on a trip." He placed his cup down. The sour cider was slightly unpleasant to drink, but he could not stomach the other alcohols sold. "I want to earn my trip myself, you know. It's only fair that if I work for something, I should get that reward in return."

"Sounds like a plan. But hey, since it seems like you don't get much business here…" He reached into the pockets of his brown leather pants, and dug around. Olav watched his hand move around, and shyly averted his eyes once he realised what it looked like he was doing...

Not that he would. Obviously.

The man dropped a medium sized topaz right beside him, and gave him that cheeky, confident smile of his. "Here, have this to start you off with. It's not a lot, but it should be fine to begin with."

Olav's face flushed up, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you sure about that? I mean… I couldn't just-"

"Hey, it's no problem. I've got a ton of topaz pieces in my vault at home. Found a whole abandoned supply of them on one of my more recent adventures. Besides, this wasn't the first time I've given someone something to help them venture around Skylands. Everyone could always use a little help every now and then."

He gulped down a huge swig of beer. The boys in front of them flopped about, attempting to dance. None of them had noticed that their old pal Olav was busy talking to this new stranger at the bar. Olav did not mind it though. In fact, he almost forgot that he was here for a birthday celebration. Talking to this new stranger had taken up almost all of his attention. But in all honesty, he did not mind having his attention on him instead of the party.

"Well… thank you so much!" He said. What a generous man. His heart pounded faster when he touched the gem. Probably out of excitement at the thought of adventures.

Yeah, that was probably it.

The man finished up the last of his beer, stretched, then turned to the bartender on the other side. Dear old Otis. He was nearing his one hundredth birthday soon, and almost always seemed lost in a daydream. Regardless, he paid him some topaz. Leaving them on the counter in a small neat pile.

"Well, I'll be on my way now. I need to reach that mountain before sunrise. Catch you on the flipside, alright?" He said. Otis had finally noticed the pile of gemstones on his bar, and happily pocketed them.

"Sure thing. Good luck for the journey."

And with a few quick strides, the man was out of the door. Almost immediately Olav came out from that tiny bubble he constructed with the man while they conversed and arrived back to the real world. Back to his rowdy friends. Back to Otis cleaning the bar. Back to the smell of sour drinks and sweat in the air. Back to his half empty glass of sour, flat cider.

It was only when he got home, where he realised he did not even ask for the gentleman's name.

Olav did not believe in free rides. When he woke up the next morning, he realised that what he did by accepting the topaz was exactly that. He looked at the orange gem on his desk, and wished he could see that gentleman again. To return the gem, and for only that reason, of course. Sure, he did convince him to keep it yesterday. Somehow his statement about how everyone could use a little help got to him. But now that he had it, a part of him wanted to earn that gem in some way, shape or form.

He figured that the only way he could earn something was by working. So he started putting in double the effort to try and master Wooly Vanilla Salt Cake. He was determined to master it. Determined to grow a taste for the sweet. He needed to balance it out somehow, and started adding in two spoonfuls of vanilla. Three spoonfuls. Four. Somehow he would find the right equation for perfect cake. He needed to earn that gem.

At home, before he slept, he dreamt of many things. He thought about ways to try and perfect the cake. A way to make the cake practically melt within his teacher's mouth. Then, he would store those ideas carefully in his head. To be used the next day. This would be how he earned his gem. In the meantime it would sit at the bottom of a small box only to be looked at. But never touched.

The next thing he thought of was ways to improve on classic recipes of the village. To truly earn his adventure, he needed a way for the village to earn more money. He figured he could adjust the food's taste slightly. Just enough to appeal to an outsider's tastes, but still recognisable enough so as to not alienate the village people, he could attract tourists here. More tourists meant more money. More money meant he could earn his adventure faster. He wished he knew what outsiders ate, but he had no frame of reference.

He made plans to interview the few village elders. He vowed that he would play around and experiment with whatever food they had.

Maybe one of his modified recipes would be good enough for a random outsider passing through. There were a few who would show up every now and then. Hungry mountain climbers and ravished travellers. Afterwards word of mouth could do the rest of the work for him. Maybe he could bring recognition to his village again.

Then, once he was on the brink of falling asleep, he would think of him. Him, the man who gave him the topaz. Him, the man with the warm laugh and the charming smile. Him, who was tall, muscular, generous, adventurous, attentive...

Him.

Homosexuality was widely accepted throughout most of Skylands, according to a couple of the isolated elders. Their village was an exception. The isolated elders told him that a madman came almost two centuries ago and preached lies about many things. One of them being how mingling with others of a different species would bring about the collapse of Skylands. The other was about how same-sex relationships were an unfortunate detriment to a proper society. Those attracted to the same sex should be kept isolated from the rest of the village, without permission to interact freely with everyone else.

The man was a shapeshifter, who had an early life warped by abuse and bullying. The isolated elders told him how complex the issue was.

"He used to go around from town to town to preach that. That's why there are so many different cults and lost villages and islands around Skylands." They would explain. "Well, there are a lot of different reasons, but that is why our particular village up here is like this."

The respected elders held the man up as a genius. Despite his rhetoric only being taught in a few cults and isolated villages throughout the wide and expansive Skylands. They assumed everyone else was too stupid to think for themselves. Which was why they felt obligated to parrot what their elders taught them in hopes that others would someday understand the truth.

Needless to say, there was a reason why he respected the isolated elders. Diverse in thoughts, opinions, and experiences. They reflected what he believed Skylands should be.

Personally, Olav thought that if someone were to come out to him as gay, he would be nothing but accepting. He would keep it a secret of course, so that he did not essentially get kicked out of the village. But, in private he would be willing to listen to their woes and pains. But it had never occurred to him that he would like men as well. That is, if he even liked men at all…

Did he like men?

It was hard to say. He had never felt anything like that before. Was that what attraction was? He did not have a frame of reference to draw from. Was it just a silly, hormonal crush? Except he did not get silly hormonal crushes. At least, not before, if it was what it was. At night, right before he fell asleep, he felt that strange mix of confusion, nervousness, and utter euphoria.

Then when he woke up, worry settled in. What _if_ he was gay? What would he do then? If he was gay, he would be rejected by the village. No more job for him. He would be cast aside to the shadows, to live among the isolated elders. With no job, there would be no money, and thus no way for him to leave the village. Sure, his current situation required a miraculous increase in tourism if he wanted to travel anytime soon. But at least if he was straight, he would have a chance. Even if it was slim.

If he were gay, and came out, he would spend the rest of his days cooking sheep wool porridge for old people. He did not mind the isolated elders. At least a quarter of them were also gay. But that would mean he had to give up his dream.

The gem that gentleman gave him would have gone to complete waste.

He brushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and poured all his energy into baking his cake. Even if he was gay, he could not possibly let it consume him. After all, there was nothing wrong with being gay. The isolated village elders told him that.

But if he was gay, he would have to remain in the closet. It would be a life, if given a choice, he did not want to choose. But then again, no one really chooses this kind of life for themselves. Everyone is dealt these cards by fate. Everybody can only hope that those around them would be accepting of their cards.

Things started changing ever since the possibility of him being gay crossed his mind. For one, he started pushing himself to work harder than ever before. Both because the image of the gentleman motivated him, and because he felt a deeper need to get out of the village. Even if he concluded that he was straight, he did not want to live in a place where anyone should be forced inside the closet. Escaping was the way to go for him.

For another, he started accepting Sven's invitations to mix around at the tavern. Maybe he should mix around with some women, and then see if it confirmed anything. Before he placed any labels on himself (and dealt with the problems that came with it), he needed to confirm it for himself. At that point in time, his brain was muddied with questions. He was confused, questioning. He needed to search for his own answers.

Whenever he draped an arm around a woman, he would subconsciously picture a man in her place. He tried to whisper sweet nothings into their ears, but he could not find anything to inspire sweet words. All his firsts, his first kiss, his first slow dance… he truly tried to be in the moment. But for whatever reason, his mind kept drifting back to the man he met that time at the bar.

Every night, when he went back to bed, he would find himself thinking about that gentleman again. About the way he smelt. A strange mix of sweat, earth, and freshly cut grass. About the sound of his voice. The deep, rich resonance that was so pleasing to the ear. About how he wished he had heard more stories of his adventures from him. He sounded like he had experienced more in his youth than most people would experience in their lifetime. Thinking about him so much, he inched closer to accepting the possibility he may be gay.

This was what a crush felt like, wasn't it? Does he really fall for people that easily?

He pulled the covers above his head. He'll deal with his feeling tomorrow.

The next day, after a day of hard work in the kitchen, he met up with Sven and his friend Nikolas at the bar. They were enjoying themselves, sipping on some drinks together. It was even the first time Olav tried Otis' special brew of beer. But since it was supposedly the tavern's strongest drink, and Olav was a lightweight, he asked Otis to water it down a little.

But despite that, he still managed to feel giddy and tipsy after only drinking half a cup. That was some seriously strong stuff!

He joked around with his friends a little. Complaining about their apprenticeships, laughing hard at their problems with life. Then Olav let relegated that he had finally gotten an okay rating from his teacher. His cake was decent enough. "I'll be having the acceptance ceremony at the end of the week." He said. And immediately, Sven turned around to order another round of drinks to share.

"Good job, Olav," Said Nikolas, And he gave him heavy pats on the back. As a mountain spice farmer, his body was far less muscular than that of Sven's. It was lean, tall and thin. His hair had been gelled up that evening. It was probably made out of some sort of spice, because it had a fresh, invigorating sort of smell

It was a good thing they were hanging out together. Soon he and Nikolas would be working together, one providing mountain herbs and spices. The other using them to cook a meal worth climbing a mountain for. They needed to build up their relationship more.

Nikolas took two cups from Sven, and then handed him one. Olav extended a hand, and gratefully accepted it. "Thank you," he said.

And then Nikolas smiled at him. Showing his dimples, his pearly white teeth, a feeling Olav had felt only once before suddenly surged up again.

He spent the rest of the evening observing Nikolas. He moved differently from the gentleman he met that day. Instead of strong, solid movements, Nikolas was far more gentle and had a way of sneaking into corners of rooms. He was lithe, and tall, and Olav found that rather attractive.

Olav caught traces of smells. Beyond the hair gel, which smelled of some sort of mint, he had a sort of vanilla-like smell mixed in there. Their special strain of mountain vanilla was used to make many things. One of them being soap. Maybe he was smelling that?

His eyes paid attention to what he was wearing. His outfit mostly consisted of clothes made of wool, similar to everyone else in the village. But unlike everyone else in the village, he could colour coordinate his wool like no other. The way he wore his clothes made him look good. Handsome even.

Olav paid more and more attention to him the entire night. It might have been due to the alcohol. Or maybe he did just fall in love that easily. At that point in time, he was too in the moment to care. He laughed louder at his jokes, found himself more attentive whenever he spoke up, and he wished that Sven would stop talking so that Nikolas could. Sven was a rather annoying friend, he concluded. Now that he found someone worth spending time with, he wished that he and Nikolas were the only two in the room.

When he stumbled home that night, the high feeling faded away. Under the covers, that was when he confronted his other emotions. He was worried at what the village would do should they find out. Dazed from the alcohol and the fast-paced conversations they all had. Sad at the prospect of hiding who he was. But despite the fact that the euphoria was gone, there was still a filling sense of happiness in him. What a strange feeling...

He was still scared of what the village might do to him if they found out. Because he would lose his job, and thus his ticket out of there, he needed to stay in the closet. But for now, under the covers, he had a thrill and a warmness in his heart. He could admit to himself he was gay. He finally developed a taste for something sweet.


End file.
